


The Empty Dunes

by DarthNickels



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Guilt, Visions, Visitations, warning: gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-10 23:51:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthNickels/pseuds/DarthNickels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During his long exile on Tatooine, Obi-Wan receives a recurrent visitor. It's enough to push him past breaking. Companion piece to 'The Hot Room'</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Empty Dunes

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place during the same time frame as "The Hot Room". Make of that what you will.

The first time Obi-Wan heard the sound, muddled in between sleeping and waking, he thought it was some kind of animal. He’d thought the low moans were the lonely winds, winding past his isolated hut, but a scratching at his door and a flicker of life in the Force told him otherwise. He decided to leave it be.

                By the next morning he had forgotten all about the nocturnal intruder, but in the middle of the night he was awoken by a ragged shout-

                “ _Help_!”

                This time, Obi-Wan threw open the door and rushed out into the Waste, the sand cool against his feet. He saw a human figure lying in the sand, but not until he reached it did he realize why it looked so…wrong.

                It was Anakin. No- no this thing wasn’t Anakin. It was all that he’d left of Vader that day on Mustafar. The body still stank of burning meat, and Obi-Wan gagged. The thing dragged itself towards him with one remaining limb.

                “Obi…Wan…help,” it rasped. Their eyes met—the two blue eyes he loved set in a wreck of Vader’s face.

“Hurts…” the thing moaned. The golden hand reached out to grasp Obi-Wan tunic, he felt it clumsily wrap around his ankle instead—

                And then he woke up in his bed, covered in a cold sweat. Obi-Wan crept to the door, lightsaber in hand, and flung it open.

                There was no body on the sand. It had only been a dream.

                Obi-Wan knelt on the floor of his hovel, losing himself in meditation until well after the sun had risen.

                For many nights afterwards, Obi-Wan heard pleas for help echoing across the dunes while he lay somewhere between wakefulness and dreaming. He pressed his hands to his ears, for all the world like a youngling in a thunderstorm, but it did little to shut out the cries. They seemed to reverberate within his skull, buzz within his chest.  He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to release his emotions into the force—including the ones he dared not name.

                _It’s not him. It **can’t be** him._

That was the truth. If he said it enough, maybe he would believe it.

                One night- the last night of his visitation- Obi-Wan’s eyes opened to a room illuminated by the light of three moons. There were no sounds echoing from outside—only the slow rush of the wind.

                He knew it was more than a dream- the Force was telling him to face whatever he would see out there. His steps were slow as he passed threshold of his home, towards the silent figure lying in the sand.

                When he reached Anakin’s body, he drew back in horror. It was decimated- worn by the winds, the sand, and baked in the sun for days. Bleached white bones poked through ruined flesh. This was it. It was over.

                Then, to his horror, it stirred. The head raised—the jaw had come loose, handing by a thread of sinew. An animal had found the soft meat of his tongue. The sound it made…resembled nothing human.

                “H…hhhuhhh…” it gargled. “Hhh….huuuhhh..heeeeellll..uh….”

                It was too much. Obi-Wan screamed, in pain and in horror, and struck out with his lightsaber. The moment it made contact the body vanished, and with a roaring sound he woke again in his bed.

                The first thing he did was turn over and vomit. There was nothing in his stomach, but he retched again and again, bringing up only yellow bile. When he was finally released from the fit, tears streaming down his face, rose silently, padding to the cupboard. He took out a bottle, full of some awful brew made in a moisture farmer’s unused bathtub, and a small glass.

                Obi-Wan sat at his small dining room table, with only space and chair for one. Before him sat the glass, the bottle, and a small chrono. Every ten minutes he poured himself another small drink, took it, and then sat unmoving. He did not think about what he had seen. He did not dare contemplate what he meant.

                He drank until the bottle was empty- as empty as he was- and passed into unconsciousness at the table, unable to return to his bed.

                It would be a long time before he went to sleep any other way.


End file.
